Page 97 of Learning Curve

“You can bring Jeff Hayes back,” Dean Kandinsky tells Officer Walters, completely oblivious to the mess he’s inviting.

My hands shake in my lap as I try to control the dump of fresh adrenaline in my veins. “W-why is my father here?”

“We tried to contact your mom—the emergency contact you have listed on your university forms, but your father is the one who answered her phone and felt strongly that he would come down to discuss this situation further,” Dean Kandinsky updates.

“I’m nineteen,” I say, my voice rising with irritation and panic. “Why would you need to contact either of my parents? In the eyes of the law, I’m an adult, and I’m okay with that. I’m ready to face my consequences.”

Dean Kandinsky’s eyes shed a layer of sternness momentarily. “I appreciate that, Finn. I do. It’s very mature of you. But parent involvement in an incident of this magnitude is protocol in the contract you signed in the student handbook at the beginning of the year.”

“It’s just policy,” Ty says, and he offers a soft smile in my direction. “Nothing more than that, okay?”

He’s trying to calm me down. He thinks he’s helping. But what he doesn’t know is that his world is about to be turned upside fucking down the instant Jeff Hayes steps into this room. I know it’s been nearly half a century since he last saw his father, but the resemblance between the two of them is unmistakable.

“I don’t want him in here,” I say, but it’s too late. Right on cue, my father steps into the room. He’s wearing jeans and a stained white tank top that pop culture calls a wifebeater. Ironic, I know. His cheeks are ruddy, his eyes are red-rimmed, and I already know with just one look at him that he’s had his favorite whiskey for breakfast.

“Hello, Mr. Hayes,” Dean Kandinsky says candidly as my father enters the room. “Appreciate your coming down here. I’m Dean Kandinsky.” He offers his hand, but my dad doesn’t even acknowledge it.

“What did my fuckup son do now?” he questions instead, spittle flying off his loose tongue as he glares right at me. “I told you it didn’t matter what fancy college you ran off to, and here we are. You sitting in a police station.” He laughs. “Man, I fucking told you so, shit brains.”

“Mr. Hayes, I don’t think this—” The dean starts to interject, but dear old Dad is on a roll.

“You sure as shit weren’t thinking when you let this idiot into your university. All he’s going to do is cause you trouble. Just like the rest of my good-for-nothing spawn.”

The dean’s face turns hard and uncomfortable.

“I don’t think you understand the circumstances at all, sir. Finn is in trouble, but it’s not as clear-cut as it seems.”

“Finn’s a good kid and a good student,” Ty hedges, standing from his chair to approach our dad.

I hold my breath as Jeff’s face screws up in a nasty grin. “Oh yeah? And who the hell are you?”

“Professor Ty Winslow,” Ty introduces, and my eyes fall closed. Two years and exactly one month and one day after I found my dad’s journal, the truth has finally been set free.

My dad stumbles back, taking in Ty’s face for the first time since entering the room. His expression isn’t warm or welcoming—it’s downright nasty. He laughs, the sound cutting like a knife as a tear falls down my cheek. “Well, look at that. Two of my fuckup sons in the same damn room. What a party.”

“He changed his last name,” I find myself saying, and Ty’s wild eyes shoot to mine. “He used to be Jeff Winslow, but he changed it to Jeff Hayes.” I nod, confirming all the questions running through Ty’s desperate mind. We’re brothers.

Watching Ty crumple doesn’t feel even remotely like I thought it would. I don’t feel power or satisfaction or vengeance.

Instead, I feel his pain.

“How the fuck do you know that?” my dad asks, rounding the table and pulling me out of my seat by the front of my shirt. I put my hands on his arms to shove him away, but Ty is already there, pulling him away from me by the denim of his jacket.

I don’t even know how he got there so fast, but when my dad steps forward again, Ty puts a hand to his chest and shoves. “Get the fuck back.”

“Professor Winslow,” Dean Kandinsky chastises, utterly shocked that one of his professors has just pushed a student’s parent in a police station.

But Ty ignores it completely and ensures that our father can’t look anywhere but at him. He crowds his personal space until their gazes lock. “I’m a little bigger than I used to be, Dad. So you’d better calm the fuck down before I make you.”

“Oh no,” Dean Kandinsky mutters.

For a split second, I swear I see shock and surprise and something else I can’t translate on my father’s face. But within a blink of an eye, it’s gone and he’s back to the cold, hard, mean-as-hell bastard I’ve known all my life.

He steps closer to Ty, gets right in his face, and I can imagine that the smell of stale whiskey is burning Ty’s nostrils at this point. “You miss me, son? You feeling sad that I left you and your pain-in-the-ass siblings and mom to start a new family?”

Ty doesn’t respond.

“What a great little family reunion we’ve got going on here, huh? Shall we get Wendy on the line? I’d love to know if she’s still as big of a cunt as she was the day I left her.”

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